The Bird and The Baby
by JealousOfTheMoon
Summary: Two authors agree to meet at the local pub but have to cancel at the last minute. By a twist of fate the pub sits, empty of people but full of literature--perfect for the perusal a few curious characters. Oh dear... Multi-Author, TolkienLewis Crossover.
1. Setting the Scene

**A/N- Hi! Lucy Took here. No, not JealousOfTheMoon, she'll come in later **_**(she's (I'm) beta-ing this chapter, though. Hi!)**_**. **

**I started this collective fanfic from an idea that came from a member of The Lion's Call's forum, Siberian Christmas, and started a thread for it. Before I knew it, it became a popular thread and I got lots of authors interested, including our dear JotM. These authors will introduce themselves as they come in. So after planning, assigning characters and choosing a poster (**_**that being the person who sticks this up on the web, me, JotM)**_**, I now proudly present "The Bird and The Baby"! **

_**JotM would like to add that although the authors were all thrown together and prompted to collaborate at The Lion's Call, this story is in no way directly affiliated with or endorsed by the staff there. **_

_**JotM would also like to add that there is a magnificent pun in the following chapter (Tooky is the genius behind it, although I don't know if it was intentional or not), and since JotM enjoys that sort of thing, she is offering props to anyone who spots it. **_

_**Disclaimer**_** – As far as I know none of us own anything in this story. If one of you authors does, I'd like to know about this! _(Also, JotM wishes you would pay express attention to the writer of each chapter as 90% of them are not herself and she wants credit to go where it belongs.)_  
**

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It was a dreary, muddy wet day in Oxford England. C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien had both agreed to meet at "The Bird and The Baby," the local pub that they often visited to discuss their masterpieces: for Lewis, _The Chronicles of Narnia, _and for Tolkien, _The Lord of the Rings_.

Unfortunately, dear reader, on this particularly dreary day, a terrible head cold was making its rounds about the town, and both of our favorite authors were unable to make it to their meeting. This really was a shame, for all had been made ready for their debate on the superior works. Indeed, the books were already laid out to be examined and criticized by the other master of the art of writing.

Another unfortunate event also happened on this day. The owner of the pub was out of town, and the keeper that he had left it to came down with a head cold, and had made the last minute decision to close up shop. With head a-pounding, he made a key mistake: he forgot to lock the door.

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"I have never seen anything like it in all of my days!" A tall, dark-haired man with face stern and proud exclaimed as he walked into the pub. "What wonders lie here?" He went over to one of the electric lights and began examining it. Then a boy about the age of eleven walked in and then went over to the older man and began trying to explain the lights to him, simultaneously annoying and interesting Boromir (for that was the older man's name).

As the largely one-sided discussion of electric lights continued, a tall, beautiful woman entered, mumbling something to herself about the "World of Men." Her appearance smacked of evil. Following her with a look of amazement in his eyes at the sudden change of scenery from his home in Finchley came a dark haired boy, about the age of thirteen. After him came a girl who after a closer look was plainly the dark-haired boy's sister She too had a look of amazement in her eyes, but hers was laced with a hint of horror at the sight of the tall woman. She soon turned her eyes to the next people entering.

The next people came in a group of three, all exceptionally short. There were two men, if one could think to call them that, for they were extraordinarily short. They were hobbits, and a woman made the third. All seemed completely amazed at what they were seeing. The lass turned to one of the lads for an explanation, but only got a mumbled answer of "What would the Old Gaffer think of this?"

After the hobbits came in a woman, surprised at the change from the laundry that she had been attending to. She muttered something about how she "hoped this wasn't Heaven, it wasn't anything like The Parson had said it would be if it was." Her attention was soon turned to the next newcomer, who was a horse—and what's more a Talking Horse, apparently, for it said "Good day, mum," and then went further into the pub, for he had always wondered what the inside looked like.

Then came in an old man, or so he appeared. He was muttering, "What have those hobbits done this time? Perhaps it was one of those elves..." and we will leave his muttering at that and turn to the last to enter. This youth looked to be fourteen and had a wondering expression, as if he had entered into a place out of his bedtime stories.

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After all had entered the pub, Boromir had tired of Eustace's (the obnoxious youth explaining electric lights) speech on electricity and turned to the books on the table. He picked up a copy of _The Fellowship of the Ring. _Something about the title struck him as familiar and so, although not being one to enjoy reading (or not quite so much as his brother), he immediately began flipping though it. Then he saw his name and started reading intensely...

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**A/N There's the introduction! I now turn the reins over to **_**Lady Meriwen**_**! –Lucy Took (link to profile under JotM's favorites)**


	2. Boromir

Greetings to all you shinyful and splendid (to say nothing of overly-long-neglected) Readers! The writer of this chapter is none other than _LADY MERIWEN. _She's been so kind as to write up a little intro for us, so I'll (JotM) let you read that and then dive right in with her story.

**Hello! I'm Lady Meriwen...but if you're friendly, you can call me Meriwen, and if you're very friendly, Meri. Anyway, my character is Boromir, nobleman of Gondor. I'm writing his chapter right now, and he's doing a lot of things I didn't want him to do. Guess that's just how he is! Did I forget to mention that I'm a very happy member of TLC and a huge LotR and CoN fan? *headdesks* Of course. I think this will be fun... **

**Boromir**_ – Lady Meriwen_

"And seated a little apart was a tall man with a fair and noble face, dark-haired and grey-eyed, proud and stern of glance....Here is Boromir, a man from the South."

Fair and noble face...hmmm. A slight smile played about Boromir's mouth as he read. "So," he began, thinking aloud, "I hold in my hand a record of my own doings and a description of myself. It interests me; I would see more."

He began to flip idly through the pages, watching eagerly for his name. "Boromir looked at them doubtfully, but he bowed his head...'Therefore Boromir will also be in the Company. He is a valiant man.'...After a while Boromir returned, carrying Sam." He read a little further, then stopped, surprised.

"We allowed Caradhras to defeat us? We did not continue on? No, this cannot be!" Boromir stared at the black writing, angry and grieved. Whether by his anger (which was then strong indeed) or by some other power that can only be guessed at, the words began to blur before his eyes and change into a snowy landscape. In less time than it takes to tell it, he stood on Caradhras facing Gandalf.

"Not even on the knees of Caradhras will we wait for another nightfall," Gandalf said, weary but firm.

Boromir's eyes glinted.

"What is there to deter us?" he exclaimed. "A little snow? A fancied sense of evil? Leaving this mountain for Moria is only casting ourselves from a lesser danger into a greater one. Ill indeed is the day when Gandalf the Grey speaks such coward's words."

"We are leaving," Gandalf said. "Call my words what you will, they hold better counsel than yours."

Aragorn stepped up beside Gandalf, his hand on his sword. "I back our guide," he said, his eyes challenging Boromir. "This is no time for false bravery."

"False bravery?" Boromir spluttered. "I—I—" From the corner of his eye he could see the other members of the Fellowship gathering around Gandalf. Frodo still stood alone, pale and shivering. Boromir glanced at him with a look of mingled compassion and annoyance. "All right," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of defeat. "But first I'd like to talk to Frodo for a minute."

Aragorn glanced at Gandalf, who nodded. Pulling off his cloak, Boromir walked towards Frodo. He wrapped the warm woolen garment around the hobbit's shoulders. "You shiver," he said quietly. "It is cold on the mountain, but I do not believe that is the only cause of your trembling. Frodo—will you not let me carry the Ring for you? I am abler than you to bear such a heavy burden than you. And think—when your heart is free from the pressing weight, you will have strength enough to cross the mountain."

Frodo bit his lip. "It is good of you to offer," he began, his voice small and hesitant. "It is true, this Ring is a weight on my heart. You would not keep it?" He looked up at Boromir anxiously. "You would return it to me the instant we had crossed this mountain?"

"You need not fear, Frodo," Boromir said, smiling. "I would not keep a second longer than necessary." Though it may be necessary for it to go to Gondor, he thought, trying to ignore the prickings of his conscience. If we were not dead before we reached Mordor, we would certainly die then.

Frodo unclasped the chain and drew it from his neck. His eyes met Boromir's for one long instant. Then with a little tremor, he placed the Ring in Boromir's hand.

Boromir smiled and slipped the Ring inside of his shirt. "Do not tell the others of what has passed between us," he whispered urgently. "At least...not now. They will not understand, not until we have conquered Caradhras together."

Frodo nodded and placed his hand in Boromir's. They began to ascend the mountain—in the direction of Gondor.


End file.
